Established as a stagecoach watering stop on the site of old Fort Tyson in 1866, Quartzite is now internationally famous for its annual Rock, Gem, and Mineral shows. It goes into siesta mode from April to September; reverting to just another blow-torched desert town before it awakens in November like that mythical sun bird, the Phoenix. That’s when the big rigs begin rolling in, swelling the population of the ‘little town that isn’t’ to 20,000 in the peak months of January and February.

National Geographic referred to its zip code 85346 in 2001 as the “world’s largest parking lot.” Locals call it a “poor man’s Palm Springs.”

What makes this western Arizona town a mecca for RV gypsies from all over North America?

It’s that promise of months of continuous sun and heat...so dry you can taste it. The opportunity to indulge in an excess of impulse buying and people watching - and love of wide open spaces and cheap living on the desert, called ‘boondocking,’ on no-fee areas managed by the Arizona Bureau of Land Management surrounding Quartzite.

November is the beginning of the southern migration for Northerners seeking the warmth of the winter sun. Quartzite’s RV parks open and vendors and tents begin to pop up. Posters appear around town announcing up-coming activities and events, and the Rice Ranch Swap Meet fills the air with the aroma of fried onions and the offer of a burger for a buck after four p.m.

Excitement and crowds build during December, bringing more people and vendor’s tents, but the height of the show season really begins in January. I can feel that little buzz down my spine as we approach Quartzite, turning north off Interstate 10 East onto Highway 95 following a Prevost Cruiser with a big rig on our tail, both pulling small cars. Our 19’ TravelAire self-contained van is dwarfed by these full size buses being driven by seniors. I am envious of their living space but gleeful when it comes times to find a parking spot. The congestion in town must be borne as this rush hour lasts from eight am to five pm daily during January and February.

Tyson Well’s annual Sell “A” Rama event is in full swing. There are hundreds of vendors, some selling from permanent tin buildings where everything is hawked from rocks and jewelry, to tools and RV accessories. The lanes between the booths are sandy and dust is in the air; asthma sufferers beware. Street parking is at a premium but central parking lots charging two to five dollar a day are within easy walking distance. Vendors greet snowbirds like old friends, many who return each year to partake in this annual ritual of serious searching for hidden treasures.

My partner spots a white booth advertising miraculous cures for her arthritis pain and listens intently to the vendor’s spiel. Copper bracelets and bands sold as pure, magnetized metal wrap around your affected areas from neck to toes relieving pain, and according to the seller, “the cheaper versions do not work as well as mine.” I suppose if you have arthritis and live in a damp climate; a bracelet purchased in the dry desert air might seem like a miraculous cure.

RV Adventurers bring excitement and enthusiasm to this dusty town of 3,000 permanent residents. Some Canadians get caught up with the feel of the old west, buy a gun and carry it around with them before selling it back when they leave. Unlike the old-time steely eyed gunslingers who rode into town with an itchy trigger finger looking for trouble, these peaceful RV desert dwellers are looking only for friends, bargains, and music jams.

Generally, Canadians do not walk around ‘packin pistols.’

The full time attendant at the ‘Hy Jolly’ free desert parking area stated as we checked in, “I like Canadian campers.”

Why?

“Because they don’t carry guns, and are polite.”

It’s the simple events that define the Quartzite experience for most of us. Like the serenity of sitting by a campfire under desert stars, inhaling the spicy aroma of hot dogs roasting over an open flame, while nearby, someone is singing a Hank Snow tune accompanied by a softly strummed guitar.